


Direct Me To The Sun

by tameimpala



Series: Crossfire [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s09e07 Bad Boys, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt Dean Winchester, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Injured Dean Winchester, Injury, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Past Child Abuse, Pre-Series, Protective Sam Winchester, Teen Winchesters (Supernatural), Wordcount: 10.000-30.000, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2020-10-10 03:39:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20521331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tameimpala/pseuds/tameimpala
Summary: Whatever John’s game was, he wasn’t playing fair. And Dean was left wondering how he could ever win.After collecting Dean from Sonny's Home for Boys, John drives his family through the country into the heat of Arizona and coldly deposits his boys back into school. Dean finds his way into his school's wrestling team again and attempts to recapture the normality he'd experienced at Sonny's, but is soon taught by his father that their life has no place for 'normal'.Pre-series. Set after the flashbacks in S09E07 Bad Boys





	1. Look Back in Silence

**Author's Note:**

> This fic can easily stand alone if you haven't read the rest of the Crossfire series and also works as a continuation of the 1995 flashbacks in _Bad Boys_. 
> 
> If you like the other fics in this series then welcome back! (yes it's been two years since I'd added another story to this series but lets not get hung up on the unstoppable void of time that consumes us all)
> 
> The title and chapter tiles are taken from **Only the Young** by Brandon Flowers

* * *

  


**April, 1995**  


Heat radiated into the 1967 Chevrolet Impala as though the car was caught under a large magnifying glass. Beads of sweat were collecting on Dean’s forehead but he brushed it away before any of the droplets could gather. He wished he could roll his passenger side window all the way down but he didn’t want to completely blow away his younger brother in the backseat. The 16-year-old looked in the rear view mirror to check on Sam and found him dozing against his own window, his shaggy hair was wet with sweat and hung over his face in thick strands. 

Dean couldn’t help but smile fondly at the boy. He kept on replaying the sight of Sammy playing with that ridiculous toy fighter jet out of the window of the Impala as he stared down at him from above. Before seeing him, Sonny’s kind offer to fight for him to stay had been so tempting. 

Sure, the old rundown boy’s school wasn’t what anyone would call a palace. But he’d found things there he’d never had, things he’d never even considered or cared about before. Suddenly normality didn’t seem impossible but graspable. 

And then it had been torn away with the honk of the Impala’s horn, bringing him crashing back down to earth, and Dean felt guilty for being so damn selfish. Once he saw Sam his choice was made in a heartbeat. He had to go back. He had a job to do. 

His father’s dark shadow had been visible too, a foreboding presence to Sam’s playful innocence. 

Sonny’s words had echoed in his head as Dean took a shuddering breath, _“Man, he’s really something.”_

He had no idea how right he was. 

However, Dean returned to that piece of work happily even though John had left him to rot. He’d done it with a tearful smile on his face as he clambered back into the Impala and let Sam cling onto him like a limpet. 

_“Dean! Dean! You’ve been gone forever and ever!” The small boy yelled excitedly as his jet fell into the footwell with a clatter, he shuffled over to throw his arms around Dean. _

_“Not forever Sammy, just a while.” Choked Dean as Sam squeezed him tightly._

_“N’uh ages! What happened? Did you get lost?”_

_Dean’s eyes instantly darted over to his father who sat with his right arm over the front seats so that he could look back at his sons. John’s dark stare confirmed what Dean already knew; that he wasn’t forgiven, and he needed to keep his mouth shut._

_“Yeah, just got lost is all.” Agreed the older boy quietly as he broke away from his brother to stare at his feet._

And that had been the end of it for Sam, but only the beginning for Dean. 

There had been no hunt after all. Instead John drove them further and further away from Sonny’s Home for Boys in silence, only casting a backwards glance in the rear-view mirror ever so often. Sam made up for the quiet by telling Dean in great detail about his time at Uncle Bobby’s house. 

After a few hours on the road John pulled into a truck stop complete with a motel and café. By that point Sam’s eyes were drooping heavily and when John finally got them all a room Dean could tell that as soon as he collapsed onto a bed he would be out like a light. 

Of course, that was exactly what happened. Dean laughed softly at his worn-out brother and sat down beside him. He slowly and carefully pulled the 11-year-old's shoes off and set them down before gently laying a blanket over him. 

_“He missed you, you know.” John’s voice had come from behind him and made him jump. He hadn’t said a word in the car, so Dean figured his punishment of choice would be silent treatment. Maybe that had been wishful thinking. _

_“Wouldn’t stop asking where you were.” His father continued in the same monosyllabic tone. _

__

_Dean found himself wondering if that had been the only reason John had decided to comeback for him- because Sammy had kept pestering him until he gave in. _

__

_“Dad-” The boy began as he turned to face his father, wanting to explain away everything, but John raised a hand to stop him. _

__

_“I don’t want to hear it. You fucked up Dean. You fucked up bad. Lost the money I gave you. Got caught by the cops stealing. How could you slip up and get caught? I thought I taught you better than that.” _

__

_“You did.” Murmured Dean, hanging his head. _

__

__

_“Damn right I did. I hope that shithole straightened you out. I don’t know how many more mistakes I can let slide.” _

__

__

_Dean looked at his father, really looked at him hard, and saw the quiver in his eye. They both knew John had never let anything slide by unpunished, not when it came to Dean’s mistakes. _

__

__

_However, by some grace of God, John seemed to relent under Dean’s gaze. It may have been small, but Dean swore he saw guilt lingering in his father’s heavily shadowed features._

__

__

_“God, the way that Sonny guy spoke to me-” John said suddenly, sinking into a chair in the corner of the motel room in annoyance. His plan of attack shifted onto the man who’d housed his son for two months, “Stood all high and mighty tellin’ me you had some damn dance to go to? Like I’d believe that. You should be thanking me Dean, that guy looked all set to keep you in that home.” _

__

__

_“Hm.” Dean felt his back rise as John criticized Sonny. The man had told his father the truth. Unlike John who’d lied about having a job to return to, to what? Manipulate Dean? Guilt trip him even further? Whatever ever John’s game was, he wasn’t playing fair. And Dean was left wondering how he could ever win. _

__

__

_“What?” His father snapped sharply and it was enough to make Dean blink hard and revert to his old ways. He knew that all it took was just one false move by Dean, in the wake of his own mistakes sometimes a smart answer taken the wrong way was enough to make John flip. _

__

__

“_Er- I mean, thank you sir.” Dean corrected himself, trying to put as much military-like obedience into his voice as he could muster. _

__

__

_John didn’t reply. He sat in the small armchair next to the window with the light from the outside streetlamp illuminating his face, his brow furrowed as though trying to analyse the son he hadn’t seen in more than 6 weeks._

__

__

_He could have voiced his hurt at having Dean away from him for that long, could have held him tight and told him he regretted leaving him in that place. He could have ranted and raged at his son, torn Dean down to shreds for being so careless and stupid. John could have even gone for the easiest option of all of them, one that was so terrifyingly familiar, to let his anger take over and drive a fist straight into his son’s face. _

__

__

_His hand even shook as it lay on the arm on the chair, already clenched tightly. _

__

__

_But he didn’t do it. He stared at his eldest son standing tall in the dim light of the room even though John could see the fear that lay inside him. Dean looked like a stranger dressed up in a shirt and tie that were ever so slightly too big for him. That Sonny had tried to tell him something about a school dance and John had laughed in his face, as if there was time for dances in a world like this. _

__

__

_His soldier either stood waiting for the order to stand down or to suffer consequences. _

__

__

_John was not a merciful man, and he forgave nothing. But he knew when to fold. _

__

__

_“Get to bed.” He sighed and stood up, walking by a shell-shocked Dean as he exited the room into the night. _

The reunited family of three soon got back on the road again after the night they’d left Sonny’s. John seemed to be on a mission to get them as far away from upstate New York as possible. West was the only direction they could take and John shuttled the car straight through Pennsylvania and Ohio in one day. 

When they reached Indiana they stopped again. John left his sons to fend for themselves for the night and returned the next day at 5 am smelling of rum and whiskey where their father sat on the very edge on Dean’s bed, looking as though he may tumble off at any moment. The 16-year-old stared at him, his back rigid against the headboard. Dean both hated and loved his father in equal measure, and he feared him like no other person or being in the world. 

John had turned to him after ten minutes of silence and opened his mouth to speak. But instead he paused and glared down at his hands. 

“Something’s always tryin’ to take you boys away.” He mumbled, his voice low and gravelly. John was beginning to list forward, and Dean didn’t catch him in time. 

After sleeping off the drink well into the late hours of the afternoon, the family ended up on the road again. Sam and Dean glared at the road signs that pointed towards Iowa and South Dakota longingly, both expecting their father to head back towards Bobby’s. After all, Sam was missing school. He’d been re-enrolled at the middle school near to Singer’s Auto Salvage for the second time in two years even though the principal was reluctant to allow him back knowing that he’d probably disappear halfway through a semester again. 

The principal's doubts were right, it did happen again. John continued heading west through Illinois and Missouri, causing Sam to go into a full-blown meltdown when he realized they wouldn’t be going back to Bobby’s. He raged for a solid hour in the car, screaming and yelling about how unfair it was and how he had homework to hand in. John ignored him for as long as he could as Dean attempted to calm him down, but as soon as Sam started kicking the front seat in anger John pulled over to the side of the road. 

“For fucks sake Sam it’s a damn school!” The hunter all but growled at his youngest son. It would have been enough to make Dean put up and shut up but Sam only puffed his chest out in anger, spoiling for a fight just like his father. 

“But I like it there! It’s the only school I’ve been to before! I know the other kids and the teachers. I’m sick of starting again and again and _again_ in some other stupid place!” 

“Well I don’t know what to tell you son because that’s exactly what you’re gonna have to do.” 

“Why?” Yelled the 11-year-old, his face turning red at the injustice of it all, “Where are we going this time? You don’t even know do you?” 

“Sammy stop it.” Warned Dean, trying to hold onto his shoulder to calm him. But Sam only leaned forward as though he was trying to scream directly into their father’s ear. 

“No, no! It’s not fair. It’s not... it’s n-not...” Sam began to dissolve into sobs, the fight becoming too much for the kid. He finally gave into Dean’s tugs, falling into his arms and burying his face in his neck. 

Dean caught his father’s eyes in the rear-view mirror but John quickly looked away. 

“We’ll stop soon.” Said John, thinking Sam was just worn out and sick of being cooped up in the back of the car. He gunned the engine and returned to the black asphalt. 

This is where John belonged. And his sons belonged with _him,_ so that’s where they had to be- no matter how much they hated it. 

John had stopped soon after Sam’s episode. A week in a town on the borders of New Mexico seemed to be his answer to his youngest’s annoyances. He even found a small haunting nearby, as though he was trying to prove he did have a reason for crossing half of the country. But despite expecting to be roped into the hunt, John refused to let Dean join him. 

The message was loud and clear, _don’t expect things to be the same._

Dean’s last major mistake from 7 years ago lingered in his memory, after all it was not easy to forget almost killing your own brother. He’d only left the room for an hour at the most, for his own sanity, and that was all the Shritga his father had been hunting needed. 

He’d seen John angry before, sure. But nothing compared to that. 

This time he stole to keep Sam from starving. John hadn’t left them enough money to get them through the week and Dean saw an opportunity to double what they had left in a card game in a bar just down the street from the relativity nice place they were staying in. In hindsight maybe he and Sam had only liked the bungalow colony because it had a ping pong table. All it took was a ping pong table to put it miles ahead of some of the other dumps the Winchesters had stayed in. 

Dean lost the money easily, the game had been a fix, and he found himself in an even bigger hole that needed to get himself out of. Sam was already complaining about the minuscule rations Dean had put them on and the food wasn’t going to last another day. There was no other option but to steal from the convenience store. So he did, thinking he was climbing out of the hole. But instead he ended up falling even deeper. 

He had done it all for Sam that time. Fort Douglas had been a selfish indulgence that he’d payed dearly for, but this time John had chosen his punishment instead of dealing it out. He thought that leaving Dean at the mercy of the law was the worst thing he could do to him. Maybe that’s why a heavy boot didn’t end up kicking his stomach or a fist didn’t connect with his head, John believed that Sonny’s School for Boys had done that job for him. 

But just like 7 years ago, John was looking at him differently. The trust he had in Dean that had been fixed back together with crisscrossed band aids had broken again. 

And as they raced through the state lines into Arizona with the heat beating down on the '67 Impala like it had a personal vendetta against the black car, Dean wondered if they’d travelled far enough to erase all of his sins in his father’s eyes.


	2. Have Yourself Another Dream

* * * *

  
  


John finally seemed to stop running when he’d driven them as far south as he could. 

He pulled up into a roadside motel on the outskirts of Oro Valley and Tucson after spotting a dusty looking garage on the same plot. Sam and Dean watched on from the Impala as John walked up to a withered looking man who was out front fixing a Ford Bronco pickup that looked several years past saving. In just five minutes, John got himself a job. The guy’s name was Juan and he needed someone to pick up the slack. His handshake was strong and steady as he told the hunter, “The desert ain’t kind on the cars ‘round here. Or the people.”

With the promise of work, John settled them into the faded two-storey motel next door named _The Silver Sands_. Sam immediately got his hopes up that this was permanent, especially when John enrolled them both at the local school, despite having gone through the same old song and dance a million times over. Each time John drove them away from one hunt to the next, Sam somehow managed to forget about the last town and convinced himself that this place, _this place_, would be where they found a home. But it never was. Sam’s hopes would get dashed once again and Dean couldn't for the life of him work out where he was getting reserves from, he only knew that Sam was bound to run out of hope eventually- just like him. 

Dean dreaded their impending first day at school. In Hurleyville he’d actually managed to make friends for once after being encouraged by Sonny to stop isolating himself and join the wrestling team. He’d breezed through most of his fights thanks to years of combat training from his father and ended up winning the county title. Sonny even hung his certificate up on his wall next to the other trophies and achievements of the boys who'd found a home there with a great gleaming smile on his face.

Dean wondered if it was still on that same wall in the farmhouse.

Did Robin look up at it every time she visited the house for guitar lessons?

“Wake up Dean! Come _on!_” Two small hands were shaking him awake and Dean peered up to see his younger brother staring down at him. 

“Hmm?” Muttered Dean as he rubbed his tired eyes. Sam let go of him and walked towards their duffel bags that were stacked in the corner of the room. 

“We gotta go, first day remember?” The smaller boy said as he rifled through the bag to find some half decent clothes to wear. 

“How could I forget?” Dean smirked at Sam’s eagerness and turned over, pulling the sheets up further in an effort to go back to sleep.

“You were talking in your sleep.” Piped up Sam and Dean’s eyes shot open again.

“I was?” 

“Yeah. You kept saying _‘Robin’._” 

Dean’s heart skipped a beat for a second, “Oh.” 

“Were you dreaming you were Batman?” Laughed Sam and the older boy sighed a little in relief. 

“Huh, must have been.” Dean propped himself up on his elbows and looked around the room, expecting to see John, “Where’s dad?” 

Sam pulled loose a t-shirt and a flannel out of the duffel before stuffing it back and answered, “Gone to get some breakfast.” 

“Really?” Dean was fully expecting John to make them share out the meagre rations they had left on the table.

The boy looked at Dean like he’d just grown two heads, “From the vending machine Dean.” 

“Right. Makes sense.”

“Are you okay?”

“Super.” Answered Dean unconvincingly and tried to deflect attention away from him, “What about you? Can’t find a thing to wear huh?”

Sam scoffed in annoyance at the bag, “We don’t have anything with no holes in.”

“Relax Sammy, we’re not even going to be here that long.”

“Dad got a job.”

“Dad always gets a job Sam. You see, we’ll be here like 3 weeks.”

Sam opened his mouth to argue but the door swung open suddenly, making Dean reach for the knife under his pillow and Sam drop the clothes he was holding. 

John stood in the doorway, back lit by the bright morning light of the Arizona sun. He moved into the room and deposited two bags of Funyuns and a Baby Ruth bar on to the edge of Dean’s bed and fixed his eldest with a questioning glare.

“Why was the door unlocked?” He asked in a low voice that shook away any last remnants of sleepiness. 

“W-what?”

“I said, why was the door unlocked?”

“I forgot to do it,” Said Sam, appearing at John’s side, “Dean was asleep Dad, and you were just at the reception.”

John’s dark eyes stayed on Dean as he countered, “Doesn’t matter how close I am Sam, something can always get in.”

For a moment the room was still and silent until John finally cut the tension with a sigh.

“Don’t forget again.” He said and threw a bag of chips to each of them.

“Eat your breakfast, we roll out in 20.”

  
  


* * * *

  
  


John dropped his sons near the gates of the school with a warning not to get used to getting rides every day, to which Sam protested that the school bus likely wouldn’t go out as far as The Silver Sands, and even if it did, he wouldn’t want anyone to see that they were living out of the motel.

“You care too much about what people think Sammy.” Dean told him with a playful grin.

“Sometimes you should Dean.” Said his father, wiping the smile from his son’s face, “We don’t need the CPS on our tails again after your last close call.”

Blame lingered on every single one of John’s words and Dean wondered which close call he was referring to. Did CPS pay John a visit after Dean was arrested? He didn’t really know his side of the story. Maybe John didn’t know that Dean hadn’t exactly gone quietly, that he’d fought that dumbass cop who caught him taking a five-finger discount at the store in a bid to get free. All he had been thinking about was Sammy, alone and waiting back at the bungalow colony for Dean to return with his peanut butter and bread for his banana sandwiches. He wasn’t told who had finally contacted his Dad but the returning message was relayed loud and clear to him: _“Let him rot in jail.”_. 

Sonny had asked if the bruises on his arms were from his father and Dean just laughed, not this time. Maybe that had been enough for Sonny to put the Social on John, seen as though he hadn’t believed Dean when he told him the truth that a Werewolf had done it. Then again, who would believe a story like that? None of the teachers who got that judging look in their eyes and wanted you to _“Wait a minute Dean,”_ at the end of class ever did.

He figured he was lucky to be starting at this new school with no injuries to explain away, but that was about the only thing Dean felt lucky about. In all the schools he’d been dragged to throughout his life he’d bid practically every one of them farewell without so much as a backwards glace. However, as he stared over towards Magdalena High, he couldn’t help but miss the school he’d attended with Robin and the wrestling team he’d been egged on to join. He'd never really been one to participate in sports, his father's drill sessions and training exercises made it hard to see the point of anything so trivial as a game like basketball or soccer. But wrestling, that was different. It made him _feel _different. And when he'd won the final fight in the county championship, medal and all, it had made him think of all the people he could have been- of all the versions of himself that had been killed by his mother's death and his fathers endless quest for revenge.

Sam jumped out of the back of the Impala and slammed the door, shocking Dean out of his thoughts. He dragged his backpack along with him which looked so comically large in comparison to the small boy. Dean on the other hand, only brought a small army surplus bag with him- he would have taken nothing at all if John hadn’t shoved it towards him as they left the motel room.

“Meet Sammy outside of his school.” Ordered John as Dean began to climb out of the car, “Walk back together.”

“Yes sir.” Dean answered dutifully and closed the car door, resulting in the usual comforting creak. John sped off down the road pretty much as soon as he shut it, leaving behind a dust cloud that stung Dean’s eyes.

“I wish we were in the same school.” Said Sam from the sidewalk, staring at his building with disdain. Dean wished they were too, if only to keep an eye on his little brother. The four years between them sometimes felt like a chasm.

“You’ll be fine Sam,” Reassured Dean, “If anyone messes with you, tell me.”

“How can I do that if you’re in a different building?”

Dean rolled his eyes, “After school, genius.”

The younger boy looked up at him and suddenly fixed Dean with a questioning stare. 

“Will you be okay?” He asked again, looking so serious and concerned that Dean laughed uneasily- trying to lighten the look on Sam's young face.

“I’m always okay.” 

But Sam didn't seem to buy it. His brow furrowed as though he was trying to work his older brother out, like he was a complex equation that Sam could work out if only he tried hard enough, “You won’t go missing again will you?”

The 16-year-old was caught a little off guard by Sam’s question. After Dean had returned from Sonny’s Sam hadn’t really questioned him over what had happened apart from when they were reunited in the car. Maybe their father had supplied him with an answer and Dean didn’t really want to go against John’s party line, whatever it was at this current time. They’d been telling lies to Sam for so long Dean couldn’t work out the truth anymore. But the question still felt like a blow to the stomach and he couldn’t help but feel like he’d failed his brother all over again.

“No Sammy, I swear. I’m not going anywhere.” Smiled Dean and pushed his younger brother’s shoulder affectionately, “But you need to get going now if you don’t wanna be late.”

That seemed to light a fire under Sam and he scurried off, looking like a backpack with legs. Dean smiled fondly as he watched Sam follow some other kids about the same age as the boy through the gates and through the schoolyard. The kid would be fine, Sam had this strange knack of making a home for himself with what little time he had.

Dean strode away from the middle school when he lost sight of Sam and began slowly walking over to his high school which was only a block away at least. He considered skipping class but he knew that they’d only call his Dad, and if they did that Dean didn’t even want to think what John would do when he got hold of him. He was already on paper-thin ice at the moment, one slip up and he’d shatter it completely.

He looked at the imposing building of Magdalena High and froze, his fight or flight response kicking in. Dean took a deep breath and walked through the gates and down the path, avoiding eye contact with everyone making the same death march towards the school.

_Just make it through the day,_ he told himself.


	3. Laughing in the Open Air

* * * * *

  
  


The first few periods went by in a dull daze, with each teacher acknowledging his presence at the beginning of class with the same old _“We have a new student with us today”_ routine. Thankfully none of them asked him to tell the class something about himself, that was always torture. His quippy remarks never got much love from the teachers and he didn’t really feel like playing up to his rebel without a cause shtick any way. He let the hours slide by without paying attention, instead he thought about Robin. His stomach felt hollow with guilt as the thought of her waiting for him to turn up to take her to the dance played over and over in his head. Dean kept imagining her dancing with some other faceless guy, someone whose life wasn’t five kinds of crazy like his.

Before he knew it, it was lunch. 

After lazily coasting around the school hallways for a while Dean decided that rather than go sit alone in the cafeteria with whatever his two dollars could get him, he’d sit outside on the school field. Dean slowly made his way past scattered groups of students loitering yard and up through the gates. When he found an uninhabited area he dropped his bag and sat down. 

Just as he was tucking into a sad looking cheese sandwich, he heard footsteps approaching him.

“Hey, you’re Dean right?” Said a voice from behind him, causing Dean to turn violently towards whoever was speaking.

It turned out to be two guys who backed off a little when they saw the look on Dean’s face. The taller of the two put his hands up slightly and said, “Woah, sorry dude. We were in your English class this morning and we just figured we’d say hey.”

“Oh. Right.” Replied Dean, trying to dial back his threatening glare, “Hey.”

The tall one with brown spikey hair grinned and sat down on the dry grass, “I’m Dylan, and this is James”

“Hey,” Said James, following suit and dropping himself down on Dean’s left side. He was stockier than Dylan and looked a little zoned out. Dean looked between them, wondering what had possessed them to come over and talk to him.

“So where’d you come here from? You never said in class.” Asked Dylan.

Dean stared at the kid for a moment, deliberating answers in his head. Lawrence, Kansas was where he was originally from, and Lawrence was the place he would have grown up too if it wasn’t for his mother’s murder. But that place felt like the graveyard of a past life to him now. Thinking about it, Sonny’s place now felt the same, but he picked Sonny’s nevertheless.

“Upstate New York.” Said Dean, making Dylan whistle in response,

“That’s a long way, why’d you leave?”

“The call of Arizona was too strong.” He replied sarcastically, still feeling cagey. But Dylan didn’t seem to care or notice, he just laughed as though they’d been friends for years.

“Ha, yeah I bet. This place is great if you’re a fan of rocks and cactuses. You been up in the mountains yet?”

“Not had the time.” Answered Dean and glared down at his sandwich. He wished they would go and leave him to brood all on his own, but Dylan seemed to like playing twenty questions and running his mouth.

“What have you got next period then? Me and James have Gym with Coach Allan.” He pulled a face, “I swear that guy still thinks he’s in the army.”

James snorted and Dylan threw a clump of dead grass at him, “You only like him ‘cause he put you in the wrestling team even after you skipped try-outs.”

Before Dean could stop himself he asked, “There’s a wrestling team here?”

“Yeah, why?” James spoke for the first time since saying hey. His voice was slow and nasally, “Do you wrestle?”

“I- er, yeah. Yeah I did.” Muttered Dean, tugging at the grass beneath him.

“You compete?”

“Won the county championships last month.”

“What? No way!” Exclaimed Dylan, “Coach Allan will enlist you stat.”

Feeling uncomfortable and realising it had been a mistake to let slip his past glory, Dean began to backpedal, “I don’t really- I kind of quit.”

“Quit? After winning a county title?”

“Yeah. You win some, but I figured I’d lose more.” He shrugged, his father’s orders to keep a low profile had kicked back in. John wouldn’t view joining the wrestling team as staying under the radar. Joining teams had always been Sam’s thing anyway, a sneaky way to try and anchor him to a place to stop them from leaving. It never worked.

“Dude this school wins jack-shit, if it’s losing you want, you came to the right place.” Dylan laughed as the bell for next period rang out. 

All three of them got up from the sun burnt grass and started to make their way off the school field. 

“Dude you never said what you had next.” Said James, prompting Dean to look in his pocket for the scrunched up timetable he’d been given at the start of the day.

“It’s- oh shit. It’s Gym.”

“Okay then, try not to hurt our feelings.” Joked Dylan, obviously thinking he was annoyed that he had to spend another class with them.

“No, it’s not that.” Dean shook his head, “I just don’t have any clothes to change into.”

  
  


* * * *

  
  


When he got to the locker room Dean tentatively knocked on the door to Coach Allen’s office with Dylan and James casting him little glances from the wooden benches as they began to get changed. The door opened to reveal Coach Allen, a 5ft 6 man who made up for his lack of height by muscle and his intimidating presence. One quick look over the guy's shoulder revealed an office adorned with military memorabilia and an assortment of sport trophies, none of which seemed to belong to the school. Dean cleared his throat a little but Coach Allen beat him to the punch.

“Let me guess, Anderson. No gym clothes?” Said the man exhaustedly, expecting a different student, before doing a double take when he saw Dean, “You the new kid?”

“Yeah. It’s Dean Winchester, coach.” Replied Dean, using the familiar tone of voice he used when answering his father. 

“Right. Same issue then? Didn’t you realize that you might have gym today?”

“I didn’t get my timetable ‘til this morning.” Said Dean.

“Still, no kit means detention Winchester.”

Dean was about to protest when Dylan came bounding up, his sports shirt still halfway down his torso. “Come on Coach, it’s his first day.”

“Rules are rules Whittaker.”

“Wait, Dean here is a _wrestling champion_ coach.” He stressed as he pulled down the rest of his shirt, “You really wanna give him detention?”

Coach Allen paused, his eyes lighting up a little. He tilted his head back towards Dean, “That true?”

Dean stared at the coach and then at Dylan, who eagerly nodded him on- seemingly thinking that this would help get him out of detention. 

“I competed in Sullivan County a month ago.” Said Dean begrudgingly. 

Coach Allen looked impressed, “Weight class?” 

“135 pounds.”

“And you won?”

“Yes Coach.” Answered Dean, casting Dylan a side eye for bringing the whole thing up again.

“Okay, I’ll cut you a deal.” Coach Allen crossed his arms, “You come to training tomorrow and I’ll let that detention slide.”

“Training after…”

“After school.” Coach confirmed, “Detention today or training tomorrow Winchester, what’ll it be?”

It was a catch 22. Both detention and training would take place after school, which meant he’d be leaving Sam to walk home alone and risking the wrath of his father either way. If he took detention today Sammy would be waiting for him come 3:00 pm, wondering where the hell he was. 

The question his brother had asked him this morning echoed in his head- “_You won’t go missing again will you?”_. Dean couldn’t be late for Sam this time. Another unexplained absence from Dean, no matter how short it was, would let Sam down all over again. He _had_ to be waiting outside the school gates for him as soon as the bell rang. Tomorrow? Well, he’d figure tomorrow out when the time came. 

“Training.” Chose Dean with finality and Coach Allen nodded in a militaristic fashion.

“Good. I guess you’re sitting out for today then.” He turned back into his office and pulled out three hefty dog-eared books on wrestling and deposited them into Dean’s arms. “You can read these in the meantime, brush up on your technique.”

With that he bounded past Dean and blew the silver whistle so loudly that Dean nearly dropped the training textbooks to cover his ears. A chorus of groans from the lockers answered back to the whistle but Coach Allen didn’t seem to hear them or care.

“Right ladies, get onto the court!” He yelled and the class sluggishly made their way past Dean, casting both him and the books in his arms resentful looks.

Dylan lightly punched his arm and grinned, “You can thank me later.” Before joining the rest of the class.

It took all of the self-control Dean had not to throw the books at the back of the guy’s head.

  
  


* * * *

  
  


When the school bell finally rang, Dean practically sprinted out of Magdalena High over to Sam’s middle school. Sweat broke on his brow but he swiped it away quickly as he waited in the hot Arizonan sun for his brother to appear. 

After a few minutes of tactically avoiding the steady stream of high schoolers who left his own building across the street, Dean finally spotted Sam amongst a group of kids who waved goodbye to him as he ran over to the tree where Dean had moved to shelter from the heat and potentially hide from Dylan and James should they appear.

“Hey Dean!” Smiled Sam energetically and the older boy couldn’t help but grin back, his worries easing up a little at the sight of the kid.

“Good day?” Dean asked as they started walking down the block.

“The best!” Sam held up a paperback novel in his hand, “I got a book assignment.”

“On your first day? I hate to break it to you Sammy but most kids wouldn’t think that’s good day material.”

“It’s Lord of the Flies, that’s like 9th grade level Dean. Miss Rodriguez thinks I can handle it though.”

“Go you.” Laughed Dean proudly.

Sam tucked the book into his bag and asked, “What about you?”

They both approached a crossing and Dean put his hand out to stop Sam, “Watch where you’re walking. What about me anyway?”

Sam looked at him like he knew Dean was trying to dodge the subject, “How was your first day?”

“Oh, yeah. It was fine Sammy.”

“You make any friends?”

“Pfft, not a small army like you.”

Sam studied his face, obviously sensing something was eating away at him as Dean began to pick up the pace. 

“You didn’t fight anyone did you?” He asked hesitantly. 

“Huh me? Fight?” Dean raised his hands to his chest in mock appal and scoffed, “Sammy I’m offended.”

“Dean.”

“No I didn’t fight anyone, God. I just…”

“Just?” Prompted Sam. The small boy was only 11, soon to be 12 the beginning of next month, but he was still too curious for his own good.

“Nothing, look I might have to stay back tomorrow.”

Somewhat predictably, his replay almost made Sam stop in his tracks. Sam, the boy who was so squeaky clean when it came to schools, couldn't even fathom such a thing happening. He levelled Dean with a look that was close to either disappointment or awe.

“What? Why, what did you do?”

“I just, I kind of got talked into something okay? And if I said I wouldn’t do it tomorrow then I would have gotten detention today and you’d have been left outside of school waiting for me and I couldn’t- I couldn’t do that to you.”

He took a deep breath after speaking so fast. They both were quiet for a few strides, Dean looked over at Sam who seemed to be thinking over what his brother had just said.

“So you have to stay back tomorrow to skip detention today?” The younger boy asked slowly, still trying to make Dean's dilemma make sense to him.

“Yeah.”

“Isn’t that just detention tomorrow?”

Dean sighed, “No, it’s training.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Urgh, I didn’t have any gym clothes Sammy and in that screwed up school it means detention! But the coach said I could get out of it if I agreed to come to training tomorrow.” He explained to his brother, but Sam still looked at him, expecting him to reveal more. So Dean muttered, “Wrestling training, alright?”

They walked a few steps in silence before Sam said, “He put you on the wrestling team instead of detention?”

“I don’t think I’m on the team but yeah, pretty much.” Dean kicked away a orange rock at his feet as the sidewalk started to change into a sandy path.

“Why’d he do that?” Asked Sam, still confused. 

The older boy looked at his brother for a moment and considered, _really_ considered telling him all about what had actually happened in New York. He thought about telling Sam how scared and cornered he’d felt when he was dropped off by a police officer to Sonny’s Home for Boys only to find that Sonny actually was a decent man trying to do good for kids who ended up on going down the wrong road. He could tell Sam that he actually liked working the land and doing chores because for once it wasn’t the life or death challenges their father put them through. He could tell his brother about Robin and guitar lessons and joining his school’s wrestling team and doing so well that he won a county title which hung proudly on Sonny's wall. The only reminder that he was there at all.

Dean could have told him, but he chose to lie. Because it was easier.

“I guess he thought I’d be good at it-” He answered and tried to shake his brother off, “I don’t know Sam, enough with the questions.”

Again silence came as they began to near the long stretch of road that would take them back to the Silver Sands Motel. But Sam soon broke it as he said quietly, almost to himself, “You would be good at it, when Dad makes us spar you kick my ass.”

Dean laughed a little at that, smiling despite himself, “Damn right I do. But I don’t know if I’m even going to go.”

“Why not? Dean I just said you’d be good at it!”

“It’s not that, it’s you Sam.” Said the older boy, “Who’s going to walk you back home? And what’s Dad going to think when you get back to the motel and I’m…”

“The other kids go to the playground two blocks over after school, you could meet me there when you’re done and we’ll walk back together.” Sam rattled off quickly and Dean raised an eyebrow at how fast he’d come up with that.

“And when Dad notices we’re back late?”

“We’ll just say we went to the 7-Eleven near school or something.”

The kid looked up at Dean expectantly and Dean shook his head as he smiled, “You’ve got it all planned out Sammy, I’m impressed.”

The motel could be seen in the near distance as the two brothers walked on the dusty ground alongside the cracked asphalt road that would lead them to their temporary home.

“I guess it is only one day, if I don’t go then I’ll probably get detention for missing training too.” Said Dean, giving in to the idea of joining a team again.

“Then it’s sorted.” Sam agreed, pulling ahead of his older brother and looking back over his shoulder with a glint in his eye.

“Race you back?” He asked before setting off in a full-on sprint, getting a good head start from his unsuspecting brother.

“You little-” Muttered Dean in annoyance before he quickly broke into a run too.

They both ran like crazy alongside the whizzing cars that rattled down the road, Dean gaining on Sam with every stride. The younger boy kept looking behind at his brother, laughing giddily as he tried to keep ahead of Dean.

Dean could have sailed past the younger boy easily if he pushed on harder, but he lingered back just a little, watching Sam run fiercely against the burnt orange landscape.

He could let Sam have this victory, the kid deserved it.


	4. Only the Young can Break Away

* * * * * *

  
  


They both made it back to the motel and leaned heavily against the plaster facade of the rundown building in an attempt to get their breath back. Sam was half laughing, half gasping, obviously having sprinted hard to maintain his lead over Dean. The older boy could tell that his brother wanted to brag about his win, not knowing that Dean hadn’t even tried to beat him. It was Sam’s birthday soon and Dean was unsure of how much longer he could pull his punches before Sam noticed he was doing it. Hopefully his father wouldn’t notice beforehand, Dean knew that John never took it easy on him and he was pretty sure John didn’t want Sam to have it easy either. 

Dean glanced over at the small garage at the other end of the dusty parking lot, scanning the site for their dad. A lone car was parked by the gas pumps but he couldn’t see into the auto shop that was hidden behind two large wooden doors. No one got in or out of the car. Time just seemed to stand still as Dean stared at the empty place, half expecting a tumbleweed to blow by. Sam nudged his shoulder a little, breaking him out of his trance.

“I beat ya.” The younger boy said proudly, his breathing still came out a little labored.

Dean smiled and turned towards Sam, “ Must be getting out of shape if a little twerp like you can out run me.”

“Or I’m just getting faster.” Sam grinned back at him, but the kid wasn’t one to gloat for too long- unlike his brother. “Maybe wrestling will help, maybe Dad will let you skip training. It’s like fighting right?”

Dean’s smile dropped instantly and so did his voice. He bent down closer to Sam and fixed him with a look that meant the fun was over, “Listen Sammy, we’re not telling Dad about the wrestling or anything right? You said it yourself, if he asks- we were at 7-Eleven.”

Sam still looked unsure but nodded slowly as he took a step back, “Okay, but I still think he’d be cool with it. He’s let me join teams before hasn’t he?”

“That’s different.” Murmured Dean as he began to search his pockets for their room key.

“How?”

“That’s you. I’m supposed to…” Dean’s voice trailed off. Why was he different? Was it because he was the oldest? Was it because he had one job, take care of Sammy. He’d already failed at that job so many times, so no. Dean wasn’t supposed to join school teams, Dean wasn’t supposed to do activities and have a life outside of hunting and looking after his brother. That’s how his father would see it at least, that he was shirking his responsibilities yet again and he would end up paying penance for stepping out of line one way or another. 

The 16-year-old didn’t say any of this of course. Sam wouldn’t understand, how could he?

“It’s just different.” Sighed Dean as he found the keys and dragged them out of his shirt pocket, “Come on, let’s go inside.”

They walked along to their room slowly, both already exhausted from their first day at school. Dean opened the door to an empty room and couldn’t help but feel a little bit of tension leave him. One thing he had missed whilst at Sonny’s was the comfortable feeling of being with his brother. Dean had shared a room with five other boys, each of them were messed up in some way and had found themselves there after landing on the wrong side of the law. He chose the second bed from the right and carved a devil’s trap into the soft pine of the bed post- half for protection, half to make his mark. Having been used to moving around Dean found it easier than the others to settle in.

Yeah it sucked that Sam and Dean didn’t have a home to call their own, but they were each other’s home. Sonny probably would have something to say about that, _careful making other people into bricks and mortar_. But he’d left his farm and he doubted he would ever hear anymore of Sonny’s words of wisdom again. 

The two boys both dropped their bags on the floor after they stumbled into their room. They both shared a look before they both dove towards the TV, fighting to pick a channel. 

Dean might have let Sam win the race, but he wasn’t a total pushover. Once he found a Boy Meets Word marathon on ABC l it was all over for Sam, Dean wasn’t about to pass up a chance to see Topanga for anyone.

Around an hour later, just as Sam started complaining about how hungry he was, John Winchester walked through the door with a newspaper in hand. The hunter wiped away some grease on his cheek and half smiled at Sam, ignoring the way Dean sat up on the bed as soon as he entered. 

“How was school?” John asked, shutting the door behind him and dragging a chair out from under the wobbly table.

“It was great Dad!” Said Sam excitedly, “My English teacher gave me a book to read, it’s called Lord of the-”

“That’s nice Sammy.” The older man interrupted Sam before he launched into a whole play-by-play of his entire day and turned to look briefly at Dean, “You stay outta trouble?”

Dean swallowed hard and answered, “Yes sir.”

His father gave him a short nod and turned away from him.

“Good.” He muttered as he opened up the newspaper and turned to the third page, “That’s good.”

John scanned the article slowly and pulled his well-worn journal out from his duffel bag to cross check something he’d found. Dean stayed quiet as he watched the hunter out of the corner of his eye, knowing the obvious signs that John was searching for a job. Sure enough, his father closed his journal and began talking again.

“There might be a hunt close by,” He said, staring out of the dusty window beside the table, “A few towns over.”

Dean moved a little, unsure whether he should be asking questions or not. He chose to stay silent, after all, he still didn’t know where he stood with his Dad. John never drew any lines in the sand. None that you could see anyway.

“It’s definitely something supernatural, kinda sounds like a haunting but could be something worse...” John closed the paper and looked over to Dean. His mouth opened like he was on the verge of asking Dean something but he stopped himself, seemingly thinking better of it. 

The hunter cleared his throat and looked back down at the front page. Dean craned his neck to read the headline that declared: _WOMAN FOUND DEAD IN ABANDONED FACTORY._

“H-how long will you be gone?” Dean’s voice sounded a little hoarse as he asked his father the familiar question that never got a straight answer.

“A week maybe, I don’t know. Might take a little longer.”

“What about the garage?” Said Sam over the top of his book, earning him a blank stare from John.

“What about it? Barely any work here anyway other than a few rust buckets that aren’t even worth the scrap.” John got up and walked towards the counter where a few tins of chicken soup sat, he picked one up but promptly put it down again.

“I’ll leave tomorrow after I take you boys to school.” He said, earning a smile from Sam, and moved to put on his jacket, “You want takeout?”

“What? Really?” Sam asked with wide eyes as the two boys looked up at their father. Dean couldn’t believe his luck, Dad wouldn’t be here to notice that he and Sam were going to be late from school tomorrow and on top of that he was going to buy them _takeout_? It was unbelievable.

“Yeah really. The leftovers might last you a few days.” John shrugged on his jacket, “Come on Dean.” 

“What?” Dean asked, taken aback. His father had all but avoided spending any long period of time one-on-one with Dean since he came back. This sudden order came completely out of left field and took him by surprise. 

“I said come on, I need help with the food.”

Sam put down his book and jumped up from his bed, “What about me? Can’t I come?”

“No.” Said John sternly, “You’re staying here Sam.”

The 11-year-old scoffed and fell back onto the bed. Dean stayed sitting down, unmoving, as he was sure that this was some kind of test. 

“I’ll stay with Sam.” Dean mumbled, hoping that it was the right answer. 

It wasn’t. John’s shoulders dropped and his voice was low and dangerous.

“You didn’t think twice about leaving him last time. Now come on.”

It was a low blow but it did the job. Dean got up and obediently followed John out of the door, a rock already forming in his stomach. His Dad had gone on plenty of food runs himself over the years, he didn’t need Dean. 

Despite his growing dread, the young hunter still managed to remind Sam to redo the salt lines as he closed the door behind him. As he watched his father walk towards the Impala the sound of Sam locking the door made his breath catch in his throat. _You didn’t think twice about leaving him last time. Or the time before that, or the time before that, or the time before th-_

“Dean!” Barked John who was already climbing into the car and looked all but ready to blast the horn to get him moving. 

The 16-year-old hurried to the Impala and dove into the passenger seat as John turned the engine over. They sped out of the motel parking lot and drove towards the center of town, the car’s headlights carving out the way ahead of them.

John didn’t turn the radio on. It stayed unnervingly quiet as Dean’s eyes kept glancing over at his dad who kept looking dead ahead, his hands clamped tightly around the steering wheel.

“I gotta know that you won’t get into any shit while I’m gone.” John finally let the words come spilling out, “You can’t put us- put Sammy through something like New York again.”

Dean sat in the passenger seat at a loss of what to say. He felt anger burn inside his gut that he knew he couldn’t let out- put them through? What about what _he_ had been put through?

“I wouldn’t be going if I didn’t have to, but there are lives at stake. I need to do my job. And I can only do that if you’re doing yours.”

He paused and glanced at his son, who sat frozen beside him.

“Dean? Are you hearing me?”

The younger hunter blinked and answered, “Yes sir.”

“What the fuck’s a matter with you lately? Your heads not with it boy.” John slowed down and pulled up next to a pizza shop and a Chinese restaurant, neither of which looked like 5-star establishments. 

The engine shut off. In the silence John turned to Dean, his eyes narrowed, and carefully asked him, “Nothing happened at that Sonny guy’s place did it?”

Dean had to stifle back a laugh at that. John had such an uncanny knack at both being an asshole to him and actually caring about him in the same breath. His fatherly concern did edge itself out ahead of his tough-love act occasionally and Dean could hear the worry lurking behind his question. 

Lots of things had happened at Sonny’s and they were far from what his father was probably trying not to imagine right now. But Dean hadn’t told his Dad about his brief taste of normal life when he stood in front of him in a dingy motel room when he should have been at his first school dance, and he wasn’t about to tell him now.

“No. Nothing to report.”

  
  


* * * *

  
  


They had returned back to the motel in silence with three 16” pizzas, one of which was a veggie supreme for Sam, in their hands. John opened up a beer whilst they ate and his sons watched him carefully out of the corner of their eye every time he took a sip from it. 

Thankfully Dean worked out from the way he was nursing the bottle that he wasn’t drinking to get drunk, just drinking to take the edge off. Dean eyed the bottle enviously, but John didn’t offer him one. Instead his father took a long drink, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, “You can think again boy. Don’t forget who gave you your fake ID.”

That night Dean dreamt of Robin again, the sound of her fingers picking at her guitar strings echoed in his head as flashes of his wrestling victory and the roar of the crowd intertwined with her playing. He recognized the song, it sounded so familiar, the words were on the tip of his tongue… 

He woke up to Sam shaking him awake to another Groundhog Day that was about to begin.

“Was I talking again?” Asked Dean, noticing the strange look on Sam’s face.

“No, this time you were singing.”

_Great, this kid thinks I’m tapped in the head. _

They both got ready quickly, pulling on the cleanest clothes they could find. Dean quickly stuffed some gym clothes for training into his bag which consisted on an old white T-shirt and some shorts he’d taken from Sonny’s. He felt bad taking some of the clothes that he’d picked out of the hand-me-down pile in the laundry room, but he was glad he did.

John spent the morning gathering up his research and re-loading his shotguns with freshly filled iron rounds. His eldest took a mental inventory of everything John was taking with him and also of the food he was leaving behind. The cupboards were close to empty, two sad looking boxes of macaroni cheese sat on the bottom shelf alongside Lucky Charms. They had a whole pepperoni pizza left as well as four slices of Sam’s veggie supreme, but they’d still need more to last them through a week.

Dean closed the cupboard door and turned towards his father, trying to decide if he had the nerve to ask for more food or, god forbid, money again.

But John was watching him carefully from the table and looked up at his son under his heavy brow.

“I’ll drop off some supplies before I leave.” He said as though he knew exactly what Dean was thinking.

Sam came bursting out of the bathroom, pulling his bag over his shoulder as he walked towards the door, “We gotta go Dad or we’ll be late!”

John made a noise and cleared some of his weapons from sight in case the maid came in while they were gone. He exited the room before Sam and Dean with the keys to the Impala clutched tightly in his hand. Dean went to follow but Sam jumped in front and turned towards his brother.

“You got everything Dean?” The younger boy asked as he looked into his brother’s bag like he was looking for a luchador mask or something but Dean quickly pushed his hands away.

“Yes just _go_ Sammy, stop it.” Dean said from between his clenched teeth and all but shoved him out the motel room.

John cast them a backwards glance and they both hurried towards the car before any suspicions could be raised. Just one more car ride and they'd be in the clear.


	5. It Happened Before Your Time

* * * * * * *

  
  


The Impala pulled up to the same spot as yesterday, just a small walk from the gates of Sam’s school. The younger boy jumped out of the car and hovered outside, waiting for Dean to exit too, probably so they could go over their plan for after school. But their father lazily held up his index finger to Dean, signalling for him to stay. 

“Something wrong Sammy?” Asked John as Dean mouthed at him to _go_. The kid couldn’t have looked more suspicious if he tried.

Sam looked at his brother as he tried to motion as silently as he could towards his school. The boy took the hint and sighed.

“Guess not. See you Dad.”

“Watch yourself Sammy.” Said John solemnly. The older Winchester’s watched as Sam made his way towards his middle school, he seemed to spot someone from his class also walking in and ran up to them. The edges of Dean’s mouth jumped up a little at the sight.

When Sam was safely through the main doors the Impala suddenly came to life. Dean, who had been expecting one last rundown from John, felt his stomach lurch as he thought; _He’s taking me on his hunt. We’re leaving Sam alone._

Dean soon worked out that John wasn’t taking him along on the hunt when he quickly drove into the parking lot of Magdalena High and stopped the car practically outside the entrance. To any unjaded kid whose parents worked their nine-to-fives and returned back to suburbia every night, this might have looked like a nice gesture. But Dean, who had learnt that nice gestures usually have ulterior motives, knew it was a warning in disguise. 

Both himself and John stared straight ahead at the concrete block of a school as students passed by them on their way to class. Dean shifted a little in his seat and his father seemed to see it as a cue to speak.

“I meant what I said last night Dean. I can only do my job if you’re doing yours. That means keeping a low profile, not drawing any attention, and watching out for your brother.”

The 16-year-old’s eye’s fell to his feet where his bag lay. Just over 2 months ago Dean had failed all three of those objectives and it wasn’t just John’s faith in him that was left hanging by a thread, his own faith in his abilities was practically at an all-time low.

As much as he hated to admit it, he was somewhat looking forward to wrestling again, if only to let out some of his suffocating anger that bubbled below the surface.

“I’ll check in when I can.” Said his father. They both knew that _when I can_ could change seamlessly to radio silence when John Winchester was on a hunt. But Dean still nodded dutifully as the bell rang out for registration.

He felt his father staring intensely at him. The teenager knew that he wasn’t talking much in John’s presence, that it was suspicious and unlike him, but every word he wanted to say just died in his mouth. 

Dean gathered up his things and opened the car door out into the hot air. He exited the Impala and gave the hood an affectionate tap before looking back through the dust covered windshield at his father. John was still glaring at him, trying to work out whether the rift between them would heal or deepen. 

In a second, John had his right hand across the back of the bench seat as he looked out of the back of the Chevy, reversing away from Dean and onto the road. The engine roared as the black car sped away, turning heads from the stragglers who were making their way up to the school. 

  
  


* * * *

  
  


The day progressed at an alarmingly slow speed. Dean couldn’t care less about history, it felt far too similar to researching a case but with zero purpose. Double chemistry could have been interesting if they blew something up, but instead they were forced to study the symbols of chemical elements. And English class was once again an exercise in boredom thanks to his ancient teacher who seemed to go into a trance-like state as she listed the idioms that Shakespeare was credited as creating. This was the class he also shared with Dylan and James, the former of which actively tried to get his attention every 10 seconds from his seat the front of the class.

When the bell rung, Dylan practically sprinted over to Dean’s desk whilst James slowly barged his way through the students heading for the door. 

“Dean! You ready for practice later?” Smiled Dylan as Dean gathered his stuff into his bag. He struggled to see why he was so invested in Dean making the team, was it because he’d been denied and wanted to live vicariously through the new kid in town?

“I guess. Seems like more of a punishment.”

“A punishment?” Dylan raised his eyebrow, “You said you won the county title. What, did your parents force you into it or something?”

Dean laughed bitterly. Dylan was obviously imagining he had a coach for a dad pushing him into wrestling and that they’d had some kind of huge ‘_this is your dream, not mine’_ moment together.

“Far from it.” Replied Dean, heading for the door.

“Just nerves then.” Dylan said as they followed dean out into the hall, “Look coach seems like a hard-ass but you’ll be fine.”

“You’re not even on the team dude.” Said James, punching him lightly in the shoulder.

“Then you’re the one who should be saying this stuff, jeez.” 

The three of them made their way to the crowded cafeteria and Dean considered trying to ditch them so he could find a place to eat alone. He didn’t want friends or anything that would tie him to a place again, it only made his inevitable departure ten times more painful.

Somehow though he didn’t have the heart to avoid James and Dylan, their presence and constant chatter (mostly one-sided thanks to Dylan) helped take his mind off his father’s hunt for a while. Plus James practically bought out the school’s supply of food. He even ended up sharing it with Dean after he finished the cold pizza slice he’d brought with him in an attempt to save lunch money.

With wrestling training looming over the last half of the school day, time seemed to speed up. Before Dean knew it, it was 3:00 pm and the school bell rang in his ears like a call to arms. His mouth dried up as he stood up and walked out of the classroom towards the gym. As he struggled against the tide of students making their way out of school Dean tried to get his nerves in check. He had no idea why he was building this up so much in his head. I wasn’t like he’d vowed never to wrestle again after leaving Sonny’s. He just couldn’t help but feel like his dad would see joining the team as anything but flying under the radar.

But John was gone _again_ and Dean had been backed into a corner _again_. He could only do what he thought was best and right now, he actually wanted to wrestle.

  
  


* * * *

  
  


Crash mats littered the wooden floor of the gym in varying conditions. Dean tried not to compare the equipment to his last school but he couldn’t help but look down on the threadbare mats. 

A loud whistle rang out as Coach Allen walked in and stopped the small chatter that had started between the twelve guys on the team, each of which had cast small glances at Dean while they waited but hadn’t bothered to ask him why he was here.

“Split up. I want half doing laps, the other half pull-ups.” Ordered the Coach and blew the whistle again, “Now!”

The group seemed to split themselves into two with ease but Dean was left stood alone with Coach Allen looking at him expectantly. Dean shrugged and turned to do laps with the six that included James. After trailing initially, Dean quickly picked up the pace and was easily leading the group after the third time round the gym. 

When the whistle blew once more they swapped exercises. Pull-ups were something his father hadn't made him do in years but he still executed them better than half of his group. Coach encouraged them from the side. Dean was lucky he was breathing so hard he couldn’t laugh at the thought of John’s very different definition of encouragement. In comparison to his father, Coach Allen was no drill sergeant- even if he had served.

The whistle sounded and Coach Allen yelled, “All right, all right. Runners get over here. Get yourselves into pairs, keep to the same weight class. We’re going to practice pinning your opponent.”

Once again the group seemed to pair off, Dean looked over at James who had teamed up with another heavyweight guy but he gave Dean a small sympathetic nod. Left without a partner Dean looked around for anyone left when he realized he was once again standing alone.

“Winchester, over here.” Called Coach Allen, signalling over to a mat with two other people already on it. They eyed Dean and his hand-me-down gym clothes and worn out sneakers wearily.

“You can work with Hobbs and Perez for now, switch out with one of them after the second whistle. Copy?”

“Yes Coach.” Answered Dean, earning him a nod as Allen walked off to the center of the gym and blew the whistle once more.

Hobbs and Perez turned out to be called Andy and Luis, who surprisingly didn’t shun him like their slightly judgemental stares suggested they would. They took turns practicing, working well as a team, Dean even gave Luis a few tips on rolling into a pin smoother. Coach Allen overheard and nodded appreciatively at him.

After running through a few basic throws for another good half an hour, the bell rang out and Dean looked up at the clock above the stands. 4:00 pm. Training over.

As everyone headed for the lockers Coach Allen blew the whistle, making everyone’s head’s turn towards him.

“Winchester, a word please.” He said, signalling him over. Dean sighed and hoped this wouldn’t last long, he had Sam to pick up from the playground around the block.

“You did good out there kid, real good. Even got Perez to watch where he’s rolling his opponent, that’s a damn miracle.”

“Er thanks I guess.” The teenager stared at the dull wooden floor beneath his feet, feeling uneasy receiving praise. He had hoped to make a quick getaway and avoid this conversation, internally he felt ashamed for not throwing the entire training session.

A hand appeared under his gaze, outstretched and waiting for Dean to shake it, “Welcome to the team Winchester.”

Dean looked up at Coach Allen with a sad reluctant look on his face. He opened his mouth to speak but the man just kept talking.

“Practice is every Tuesday and Thursday, don’t be late.”

“Look- Thank you and everything but I can’t join.” Broke in Dean and the Coach’s hand dropped along with his smile.

“What? You’re kidding? Winchester…. Don’t let me catch you saying this to the others but you were the best out there today. You’ve got that instinct.” The guy stood up straight and crossed his arms, “Give me a reason why you can’t join, because if it’s money or equipment or what I’ll fix it.”

Dean stifled a laugh, _can you fix my dad?_

Coach Allen was staring at him like he was the damn saviour of wrestling, telling him he was good- _the best_, and Dean couldn’t wrap his head around that kind of praise. It was the kind of encouragement he thought he wouldn’t hear again since leaving Sonny’s and it felt comforting. He also couldn’t deny how good it felt to wrestle and train again, he could almost pretend he was back in Hurleyville with Robyn waiting for him under the bleachers.

“Okay.” Said Dean quietly before clearing his throat a little and summoning some more conviction, “Yeah there’s no reason, I’ll do it. I’ll join.”

  
  


* * * *

  
  


Dean arrived at the busy playground 10 minutes later to pick up Sam who gave him the biggest grin when he saw him. As they walked Dean told his brother about training and promised to show Sam some wrestling moves. By the time they made it to the long stretch of road leading to The Silver Sands Sam was practically convinced that Dean was going to become the next Undertaker, despite Dean insisting that high school wrestling was way different from the WWF. Though if he was to be any wrestler, The Undertaker was pretty apt, considering his family's line of work. 

The two brother's long shadows fell across the dusty ground of the parking lot as they made their way back to the room. Feeling the eyes of someone on him, Dean turned towards the old garage and saw the wrinkled mechanic that his father had left high and dry for a hunt. Juan glared at both of them as he lent against a beat-up ford with both taillights out.

Dean raised his eyebrows, trying to summon up some of his devil-may-care attitude that was in low reserve, “There a problem?”

“Yeah.” Juan scoffed, “Your work shirking daddy’s my problem. Where is he?”

“Erm, family emergency.” Piped up Sam at Dean’s side, “Our grandma’s unwell.”

“Uh-huh, his phone broken too?”

Dean just shook his head. He knew the feeling of being let down by John Winchester all too well.

“Sorry.” He said simply, and Juan’s grouchy anger seemed to subside a little.

“Forget it kid.” The man waved his hand and gestured towards the building behind Sam and Dean, “He leave you both in that motel room yourselves?”

The usual lie came out his mouth like a reflex, “I’m 18.”

“Pffft, I dare bet you’re not long past 16. I got car parts in there twice as old as you.”

“Er look we gotta go.” Dean took hold of Sam’s shoulder and steered him back towards the motel. It was by no means his smoothest exit ever and Juan watched them with is dark hooded eyes as Dean anxiously searched his pockets for their key. Finally he got the door open to their hazy tan-coloured room and slammed it closed behind them. Sam quickly scooped up the TV remote as Dean peered through the net curtains to thankfully see Juan returning to work.

The older boy let out a sigh of relief. He knew that Juan was probably pissed about John leaving, but hopefully not so pissed that he’d call the CPS out on them. Still, the threat loomed over him, just another worry that joined the weight of all his other worries to rest heavily on his shoulders. 

The stress that he’d released at training was beginning to build again in the back of his mind. But as Dean thought about Coach Allen’s praise and he looked over at Sam, who was holding out a bag of chips for him, he felt like maybe he could push away the bad thoughts and focus on the good. 

For now at least.


	6. Nothing is Easy

* * * * * *

  
  


The week ticked over steadily as Sam and Dean fell into their own routines. They walked side by side down the long stretch of road outside The Silver Sands twice a day, leaving and returning from school. The sun tanned their necks as they walked into town towards their respective buildings. A gaggle of 6th Graders waited by Sam’s Junior High and welcomed him as he bounded up to them. Out of courtesy Dean crossed to the other side of the street as not to embarrass his little brother (no matter how tempting it was) but still made sure to watch him enter the school with his friends. This had caused Dean to run into James and Dylan who were making their way to the high school around the block. Surprisingly though he didn’t mind the company, the two teenagers had begun to grow on him, and Dean found that hanging around with them helped him to feel a little less alone.

Dean attended his first official wrestling practice as part of the team on Thursday only to find out that it is mostly dedicated to lifts, something that Dean wasn’t overly confident in. The teenager mostly fought defensively, blocking his opponents attempts to take him down and waiting patiently for an opportunity to get the upper hand. This probably came from practising with his father and sparring with Sam, each of whom tended to attack and strike out at you lightning fast- anger or annoyance behind their throws. If he was being honest with himself it also came from bracing against John’s more brutal tirades brought on by Dean’s failures. From that he’d learnt to duck and dive and avoid any shot as best as you could.

On Friday night at 11:06 their father called the sun-yellowed telephone that sits on the nightstand between the queen beds, making Sam and Dean jump in the middle of the Godzilla movie they were watching. They both stared at it for a second before Sam looked towards Dean expectantly. The older boy’s green eyes flittered up at his brother quickly, a short stab of resentment burning in his chest. He wished he didn’t have to always be the one to answer, to take orders and relay them back to Sam like a damn carrier pigeon knowing full well that Sam would end up resenting him for it- if he didn’t already. 

The moment passed as quickly as it came and Dean fell back into line, answering the phone like a good soldier.

“Dean?” Came the gruff voice of his father through the receiver.

The 16-year-old cleared his throat a little, “Yes sir.”

“Might be another week,” The static over the line crackled like fat in a pan, “No one is talking easy round here. Goddamn company towns.”

Though Dean felt a small flutter of relief that John wouldn’t be home to catch on to his wrestling practices. He also knew that another week without him meant their food supply was going to get pretty dire by next Saturday.

“Another week?”

“Unless I can get the factory owners to turn over some records- the way they’re acting… it’s unlikely. If nothing works out, I'll have to do something drastic.”

Dean didn’t reply, John seemed to be mostly talking to himself anyway. There was a time when Dean would ask about the case and pour over the details and patterns to find something to impress his dad, to make him see how good a hunter he could be- how good a partner he was. But his time in Hurleyville had taught him that it didn’t matter how hard he tried, it was never good enough. 

His guilt over getting caught had only began to dissipate when Sonny opened up to Dean about his own prison sentence; _“Being loyal? To who? I should have been loyal to myself.”_

He wondered, even though Sonny had let Dean leave, if he’d managed to disappoint another father.

“You boy’s keeping your heads down like I asked?” John’s low voice buzzed through the receiver. Dean nodded before realizing his Dad couldn’t see him, even though it felt like his eyes were everywhere.

“Yes sir.” He lied, the wrestling team at the forefront of his thoughts.

“Alright then. Watch out for Sammy.” And the line went dead.

Feeling relieved that John potentially wouldn't be back until the end of the week, despite what it means for their diminishing supplies, Dean breezes through Monday’s lessons and even races Sam up the long road leading to the Silver Sands Motel again. But this time he decides to take the win from his brother, not wanting Sam to get too cocky. 

Juan the mechanic watches them out the corner of his heavily lidded eyes from below the hood of another rusting car, but thankfully doesn’t say a word. 

Dean’s third training session is one of the best yet as he excels at escaping from pins. Coach Allen gathers everyone around a crash mat to watch as Dean demonstrates a Granby Roll, capturing your opponent’s arm when they’re above you and rolling your shoulder forward so that you roll them beneath you, reversing the stances. He partners up with Carey, who has a few more pounds on him than Dean, and ultimately regrets it after tossing the guy's weight over his shoulders over and over again. 

“Winchester, you okay there?” Asks Coach Allen as the team walks back to the lockers.

Dean, who’d been rubbing his aching shoulder in pain, straightened up and smiled, “Fine Coach, see you Thursday.”

“Sure. Ice that shoulder in the meantime kid. Good work today.” 

John Winchester’s Tuesday consists of wrestling of a different kind. The hunter spends his day breaking into a house to gain the documents he needed to finish the job that was progressing agonizingly slowly. Whilst Sam and Dean both attended their dull everyday lessons on Wednesday, John was interviewing a former factory worker’s wife 40 miles away whose husband had been killed on the job and had subsequently been screwed out of compensation. Under the cover of darkness the hunter dug up the dead man’s bones and set them alight. Then in the early hours of the morning as his son’s slept, John returned to the factory to check that the ghost was well and truly gone. 

By Thursday John was making his way back to Oro Valley, two days ahead of schedule.

  
  


* * * *

  
  


“So my Dad is finally letting me have the car for the weekend, crazy right? We need to do something out of town.” Said Dylan over lunch at their now usual spot out on the school field. James had a large bag of beef jerky and Skittles which he was sharing between the three of them. Dean was once again grateful to James large appetite as he’d skimped on lunch to make their money and food go further if John wasn’t back by the weekend. 

“Yeah like what?” Asked James through a mouthful of jerky.

“I don’t know- drive into the desert. To the Catalinas or something. Pull some stunts.”

Dean turned to James, “What car did you say he has?” 

“Man it’s a Honda Civic.” The two of them laughed as Dylan looked on, smirking.

“Laugh it up but I don’t see you two driving Ferrari's, so Saturday then?”

Dean’s laughter died as he dipped his head to avoid his friend’s expectant faces, “Er, I don’t know if I can make it.”

“What? You got a hot date instead?” Laughed Dylan, brushing his reluctance off, “You’ve only been here a week. Come on Dean, you’ve never seen donuts till you’ve done them in the canyons- the dust cloud is awesome!” 

“I have to look after my brother.”

“He’ll be alright for a couple of hours right?”

Dean paused to think. Sam might be, but if John chose that time to return, Dean would be anything but alright when he strolled back into the motel room.

“Sorry guys.” Shrugged Dean, half expecting Dylan to carry on trying to convince him to come but instead he shrugged too.

“It’s cool. My parents make me watch my little sister too. Last time she tried to give me a makeover with her doll’s makeup.” The teenager shuddered as his friends laughed. Dean had never felt so lucky to have a geeky know-it-all for a brother rather than a doll obsessed girl.

“Maybe next weekend right?”

“Yeah, maybe next week.” Smiled Dean sadly, knowing next week he’d have the same exact reason- if they were still here that is. For now, he was just trying to savour the small moments where he could pretend that his life was like James and Dylan’s, where the only thing there was to worry about was if your Dad would lend you his keys over the weekend. 

The bell rang out, saving Dean from elaborating more, and the three of them gathered up their stuff and headed back into the main building.

“I got double History next, I’ll catch you at training.” Said James to Dean as he bounded off down the west hallway.

“See you then!” Yelled Dylan after his friend and the other boy threw a middle finger back at him. Dean laughed at the exchange, allowing himself to feel part of the unlikely trio they’d merged into. Both he and Dylan talked on the way to their last lessons of the day. Well, Dylan talked. Dean listened, wondering when his new normal was going to be blown to pieces again.

  
  


* * * *

  
  


“Half laps, half push-ups- stat!” The now common sound of Coach Allen’s whistle blew and Dean picked push-ups first to get them over and done with. The other twelve members of the team also divided up, five of them joining Dean on push-ups and the others taking their place along the edge of the scuffed basketball lines that marked the floor. 

His right shoulder was still aching a little from Tuesday but he’d taken Coach’s advice and iced it to help with the pain. For once Dean had felt lucky that they were living out of a motel room, the faded ice dispenser by the reception had came in handy over the last few nights. 

The pain wasn’t completely gone but he gritted his teeth against the strained muscle and completed his first 10 reps as he listened to the sound of the other half of the team running rhythmically around the edge of the gym.

Beneath that sound and over the top of the grunts of his teammates also doing push-ups, Dean heard muffled voices getting closer and closer to the large doors that lead into the gym. One of the voices was higher than the other, almost pleading. 

Before Dean could register how familiar they were, the doors burst open, and Dean turned his head mid push-up to see his father and brother standing there.

Time froze for a moment, everyone around had stopped to stare at the agitated dishevelled-looking man and the 11-year-old who was trying to pull him back, looking on the verge of tears.

Suddenly Dean’s hands gave out beneath him and he hit the mat below with a thump, knocking the breath he wasn’t aware he was holding out of his chest. From his titled viewpoint lying on the floor he watched as Coach Allen began to walk over to John and Sam.

“Can I help you sir?” He asked loudly, trying to sound intimidating. Maybe on someone else it might have worked, but not on John Winchester. His father walked forward, meeting him in the middle, and Dean half expected them both to draw pistols. 

Instead John stared down at Coach Allen through his dark eyes, a full 5 or so inches taller than the other man. Coach, to his credit, didn’t cower or back down. John didn’t even bother to answer his question, instead he looked past him as though he were nothing and focused in on his son, who was still lying on the ground in a daze not quite believing this was happening.

“Dean!” John barked, sending an army of echoes around the silent gymnasium and making Dean himself scramble frantically to his feet. 

Everyone’s eyes shot towards Dean in a mixture of confusion, awkwardness and pity. Dean avoided their looks but somehow caught James mouthing at him _Is that your Dad?_ from where his half of the team had come to a halt.

Dean didn’t answer his friend, instead he looked towards Sam, who stood in the shadow of their father still poised to break into tears at any moment. He read his pleading expression instantly and knew, Dad had found him at the playground with his friends, made a huge scene there too and demanded to know where Dean was. He had no choice but to tell him, and Dean forgave him before Sam had the chance to ask for forgiveness.

On unsteady feet, Dean walked towards his family whilst his teammates watched on. As he walked, he half wished that someone would pull him back, tell him he didn’t have to leave, tell him he was part of the team now.

_“So if you want, I'll stick my neck out for you, and I'll fight for you to stay.”_

None of them did, but as he passed Coach Allen a hand hit his chest to stop him.

“Training isn’t over, Winchester.” The Coach said to Dean, but he was looking straight at John.

Dean saw the flicker of anger in John’s face and the clench of his fist and knew that he was a about 20 seconds away from punching the guy. He couldn’t help but think about Sonny and the conversation he and John had shared that had resulted in the ex-con calling him _“‘really something’_“ – which was code for an absolute piece of work. And that was putting it lightly.

Wanting to avoid another soul crushing departure from the safety and comfort of ordinary life, Dean picked his side in a heartbeat. 

“I’m sorry Coach.” Dean all but choked out, pushing past his hand, “I need to go.”

He strode forwards, walking past John quickly and grabbing Sam’s arm to turn him around and out of the gym. Their father followed them, the doors swinging shut behind him with a bang that felt like a gunshot.

None of them spoke as they walked out of the high school and into the late noon sunlight. The Impala was parked haphazardly to the left of the concrete steps, the sun hit the roof like a beacon calling the three Winchesters to the car that was turning 28-years-old this month.

John climbed into the front whilst Sam dove into the back. Dean stood there stupidly for a second, his hand outstretched towards the passenger side door. Would John want him up front or would he be safer in the back with Sam? It felt like a test, every goddamn day felt like a test.

The car engine came to life and Dean made the decision to sit up front, hoping as usual that it was the right one despite knowing it probably wasn’t. As soon as he closed the door John pulled away from the school, leaving it nothing but a shrinking building in the rear-view mirror.

His father’s fingers were drumming on the steering wheel the way that they did when he was about to explode. No music was playing in the car, the only thing they had to do was wait until John inevitably spoke.

They didn’t have to wait long. As they pulled up to a red light John broke the tentative silence.

“The hunt wrapped up early this morning.” Growled the man, “Waited at the motel for you both and nothing.”

Dean shifted a little in his seat and glance over his shoulder at Sam who was still looking as though he could cry, but not in desperation like in the gym. In anger.

“So then I thought, maybe I’d catch you walking back. Drove down your route and…” John took a steadying breath, obviously trying to keep his cool whilst driving. 

“Nothing. Nothing until I spotted Sam. Alone.”

The youngest Winchester finally let out a strangled cry.

“I wasn’t alone, I was with my friends! You dragged me away in front of them all Dad!”

“Finally got it out of him where you were, still in school.” John carried on, ignoring Sam’s outburst, “I figured detention but no. Wrestling? On a _team_?”__

His father sped faster down the long stretch of road that would lead them back to The Silver Sands Motel. John looked straight ahead, his right hand still bouncing slightly on the wheel.

Dean’s thoughts returned back to the night they came for him at Sonny’s. How John had been a stoic statue in the front seat, barely visible in the light. But now he sat there emblazoned by the sun, unable to conceal his rage.

But it was the way that John had said _'team’_, the same way he’d spat out _‘damn dance’_ that night. Like Dean didn’t deserve to experience such trivial things.

Dean’s jaw clenched hard, a small bite of anger bleeding through the cracks.

“I was on a team at-”

“I don’t fucking care!” Yelled John before his son could finish his sentence, robbing him of his fight, “You left your brother again. And for what? For that jumped-up 5 foot nothing crew cut to tell you how to win points when the bell sounds? That’s not how you learnt to fight, not in the real world.”

The car shuttled past the turn off for The Silver Sands and Sam turned his head to stare at the building through the back windshield. “Dad where are you going? You just missed the motel.”

“We’re not going back to the motel.” Said John, his eyes on the dusty Santa Catalina mountains in the distance. 

“You wanna train, we’ll train.”


	7. Where did the Bow Break?

* * * * *

  
  


The Impala snaked its way through the increasingly winding roads into the mountains. They passed several beauty spots that were devoid of any hikers or tourists despite the inviting weather. Dean watched as they sped past, wondering if this was where Dylan would have ended up driving him and James to this Saturday. In a different world maybe the three of them would be out here in Dylan's civvy-mobile, drinking swiped beer and doing donuts in the dust. 

But today he was stuck inside the car he loved, once again waiting to see what John was leading their small family into. 

To say the atmosphere was tense in the car was an understatement. Sam sat seething in the back seat, his cheeks now wet with angry tears and his arms wrapped tightly around his body. John must have really caused a scene when he’d found Sam for the kid to be this upset, thought Dean. But knowing Sammy, he was probably more enraged over being used to crash and derail Dean’s wrestling practice. 

Their father also radiated a similar simmering anger, though no tears were in danger of slipping from his eyes. His hands were firmly wrapped around the steering wheel, his mouth a thin tight line, and he showed no sign of pulling over anytime soon. 

Dean didn’t feel any rage, though out of the three of them he was probably the most entitled to the emotion. His wrath leapt out of him in violent bursts but quickly died away, he was unable to hold on to it like Sam or their father. Instead he felt hollowed out, there was a sick empty nothingness in his stomach that had nothing to do with what little food he’d eaten today. He sat in the passenger seat and waited, waited until John stopped the car, waited until he was presented with whatever trial he had to endure next. He waited, because he’d learnt long ago that anger or tears don’t bring bad situations to a close any quicker. 

You just had to endure. 

* * * * 

The clock on the dashboard said 5:07 when John Winchester finally pulled over. 

“Out.” Barked the man as he opened the drivers-side door. He knocked loudly on the back window, startling Sam, “Both of you.” 

The car was parked down a slope low enough that from the road it couldn’t be seen. Dean opened his door and kicked some shrubbery out of the way so he could get out without tripping over. He felt his shoulder pull a little as he slammed the door shut and looked over the top of metallic black roof of the car only to see the back of his father’s head slowly fading into the wilderness. As Dean rounded the vehicle his brother came into view, all wide eyes and confusion. Sam opened his mouth to speak but John looked behind him and yelled, “Move it!” 

They trudged through the overgrowth with the mountains baring down on them, blocking out the low late afternoon sun. The Catalonia peaks grew bigger as they walked down the foothills. 

John wasn’t leading them to the summit. As always, it was a race to the bottom. 

Eventually they came across a barren spot of ground that looked as though it had been used as a campsite recently. The ground was flattened by whatever tents had been pitched up and there were remnants of a fire pit in the center, a circle of well-placed rocks contained the leftover ash and charred wood. 

John’s dark eyes surveyed the space and he nodded to himself. 

“Is the nature hike over?” Muttered Sam, earning him a glare from John and a light push from his brother to shut up. 

“This isn’t a hike Sam. We’re here to learn a thing or two.” Said their father, his eyes shifting to Dean, “Because your brother seems to think that a damn wrestling club is more important than following orders.” 

The heat and the long walk out here, teamed with the humiliation of John and Sam bursting through those heavy gym doors to drag him away in front of his teammates, had Dean’s tried and tested patience hanging by a thread. 

He gritted his teeth and glared at the ground. 

“I followed them.” He said in a low voice, but one that the older man caught easily. 

“Yeah? You call abandoning Sam to go play fight with some civilians following orders?” 

Sam walked forwards at the mention of his name, “He was learning to wrestle Dad, we thought you might be happy about it.” 

“Huh, that right Dean?” John threw Dean a questioning look that made the 16-year-old swallow down some of his fight again. 

“Sammy thought...” He began to backtrack, but his father wouldn’t let him. 

“No, enough of what Sam thinks!” He waved his hand dismissively, “Did you think I’d be happy that you chose to be on some team run by an asshole of a teacher whilst I’m out there trying to save lives?” 

The unfairness of this made Dean see red. Before he knew it he’d already began to walk towards John. 

“It’s not like you took me with you! You can barely even talk to me unless it’s an order!” His words sounded like they were wrenched from his throat. 

“How can I take you on a hunt when you keep pulling the same shit over and over. When will you fucking learn!” John’s callused hands pushed Dean back roughly, catching him off guard and almost making him fall flat on his ass. 

“Dad stop it!” Shouted Sam as he too moved forwards, but John raised a hand to make him stop. 

“This is real training Sam! Come on Dean, show me what they taught you.” His father pushed him back again, attempting to goad him into making the first move, “_Come on!_” 

John’s hand tried to grab at Dean’s shirt but the teenager captured his arm by the wrist and dropped to his knees before his Dad could elbow him in the face. The fight was suddenly on and 16-year-old felt himself revert into wrestling mode. 

John was an opponent. An opponent he’d been trying to avoid since he was four. 

Dean wrapped a hand around his leg, attempting a takedown but John stamped hard on Dean’s foot and managed to free himself. It was an illegal move, but Dean knew that John wouldn't be fighting a clean fight. All of his moves were going to be illegal, but Dean resolved that he wasn’t going to fight dirty in response. 

They were now circling each other with Sam standing close by, looking like he was caught between a rock and a hard place. John was fifty times more frightening than anyone he’d ever faced on the wrestling team or even at the state finals. At least they played by the rules. But Dean had to remind himself that he’d been playing by John Winchester's rules for way longer than he’d been wrestling. The rules were conflicting, harsh and they didn’t always make sense, and yet he was expected to live by them. 

John made his move, he grabbed at the back of Dean’s neck and tried to pull him forwards. Dean pushed back at him and attempted to recapture his arm, but this time John knew what he was attempting to do and jerked it away viciously causing Dean to yell in pain as his shoulder protested at the motion. Taking advantage of this, John swiped his feet from beneath him and Dean fell to the ground. 

“Dad! Dad you’ve made your point!” Cried Sam after the thud of Dean landing on his back but John didn’t even acknowledge him. 

His eldest son had fallen near to the remains of the fire pit, the teenager could feel the loose rocks behind his head and realised how close he’d came to landing on them. These thoughts were erased from his brain when suddenly John was lunging forward, pulling him up by the neck of his t-shirt and snapping some of the stitching. 

Dean reached up and grabbed his father’s forearm and kicked against the side of his right foot. John toppled forward, his arms out in front of him to break the fall as Dean rolled to the side and attempted to get back into a fighting stance. 

“Son of a bitch!” Yelled John as he hit the ground hard. He didn’t recover quickly like Dean, instead he winced as the dust that they’d both thrown up from the ground began to settle again. This triggered something in Dean, suddenly he was worried that John had injured himself on the rocks. His stance loosened and the teen crouched forward to place a tentative hand on his father’s back. 

“Dad?” Asked Dean, his voice coming out a little higher than usual. 

He didn’t have to wait long to find out if John was okay. 

The man sprung back to life and knocked Dean’s hand away, causing him to lose balance and fall to the side. Before he could recover, John was already on him and had a hold of his left arm. He yanked it behind his back- making his injured shoulder sing with pain. 

There he was, face down in the dust, muscle and bone screaming as John wrenched the arm higher up his back. Dean’s face was contorted in pure agony, he couldn’t even make a single sound. A dull ringing was in his ears as he looked blindly to the side and spotted his brother’s red sneakers. 

Sam was crying, yelling, _screaming_, and Dean couldn’t hear him. Couldn’t see his face, only those beat-up canvas sneakers moving erratically in the dust. But even Dean’s vision was fading too as the crescendo of pain became too much. 

Knowing there was no way to fight his way out of the pin before he lost consciousness, Dean began to tap the ground frantically with his right, signalling to his Dad he wanted out. He’d never tapped-out in any practices, not even in any of his matches, he’d always found an escape. 

But Dean knew he wouldn’t escape this. He admitted defeat. 

The teenager waited for the grip to loosen, for John to let him out of the hold. But it didn’t happen. Dean could feel John’s anger behind him, dragging his arm higher and higher up his back. John’s fear over Dean leaving again, his frustration over his inability to keep his sons by his side, the terror of them slipping out of his reach... 

This was a wound that hadn’t healed since the night he’d came for him at Sonny’s, one that had festered ever since John sat in that motel armchair, said _“You should be thanking me Dean, that guy looked all set to keep you in that home.”_, and didn’t get the snivelling answers he felt that he deserved. 

Finally it had all come to a head here, with John about to snap Dean’s arm clean off surrounded by the Santa Catalina mountains while Sam screamed himself hoarse over the top of his fighting kin, finally falling to his knees to desperately pull at John’s unyielding grip around his eldest child’s forearm. 

Before he could see if his brother’s efforts were successful, a snap rang out. 

An entire 4th of July’s worth of fireworks exploded in Dean’s shoulder. 

* * * 

The agony had blinded him to such a degree that, minutes later, he found himself face-up staring at the reddening sky. Dean watched as a lone bird soared high above him whilst the ringing in his ears began to abate. He blinked hard and the muffled sounds of his father and brother arguing grew louder and louder until eventually it was unignorable. 

“-need to get to the hospital! Didn't you hear it! Dad I think his arm is broken. H-he was tapping, he tapped and you wouldn’t stop!” 

“I. I didn’t...” John’s words were no longer edged with bitter anger, instead they sounded like he was in shock. 

Sam’s face suddenly appeared in Dean’s vision, blocking out the sky. It was then that Dean realised his head was resting on Sam’s bony knees. 

“Hey Dean, can you hear me?” 

Dean tried to answer but a low moan came out instead. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Sam murmured to him even though things were anything but. It felt wrong for Sam, his little brother, to be comforting him. It was meant to be the other way around. 

Footsteps moved closer to them and Dean tensed up, sending an excruciating shock of pain through his shoulder. He sucked in air through his teeth as tears formed in his eyes, clouding his vision just as his father came into view. 

John was standing above him with a blank lost expression on his face as though he’d just come across his sons whilst he was out sleepwalking through the mountains. As he locked eyes with Dean his face began to change, awareness set in and guilt quickly overtook it. The hunter looked away, down at the ground, and seemed to try and pull himself together. 

“Can he stand?” Asked John, his voice a low rumble. 

Sam placed a soft hand on Dean’s uninjured arm, the one that Dean had just realised was clutching onto the forearm of his useless left one. That arm felt dead and numb. Dean chanced a glance down at his clavicle area and saw a large bump protruding out of his t-shirt at the completely wrong angle. He closed his eyes at the sight of it. 

“Dean? Dean can you stand?” His brother asked softly. 

Dean nodded, and shuffled a little, trying his best to get to his feet without jostling his injured limb. He felt Sam behind him place a tentative hand on his back to help him sit up. Once he was sitting, Sam moved around so that they were face to face. The kid was looking at Dean like he thought he’d break in two. 

“Does it hurt?” He asked childishly, and Dean almost laughed. _What do you think Sammy?_ He wanted to bark at his brother, but he held in in. Instead Dean shuffled back to glance up at his father who was back-lit by the burgundy sky. 

“Just put it back.” The teenager said through his clenched teeth. 

John and Sam blinked at him. 

“What?” Asked his brother in disbelief. 

“The arm. Put and back and we can go.” Dean wanted it over. He wanted his arm back in place- he wanted them to ride away in the Impala, straight out of town, and tuck this all away like they’d never even been here at all. That was the better way. The easier way. For both him and John. 

But Dean already knew that one family member wouldn’t agree. 

Sam wouldn’t stop looking at him like he was a small child. It was ridiculous considering he was the 11-year-old. “Dean, you didn’t hear... I don’t think it’s dislocated.” 

“Are you... a friggin’ doctor?” Hissed Dean as he tried to turn away from his brother towards their Dad, “No hospitals.” 

That was a rule, no hospitals if you can help it. Especially if the injures were hunting related. The rule applied doubly if they were family related. 

“No. No, _Dad’s_ not a doctor.” Sam stood up and turned towards John, “Dad you can’t. You heard. You...” 

_Did it._ Sam didn’t finish the sentence, but they all knew. John knew better than all of them the extent of the damage. Because he was the one who caused it. 

The three of them stared at each other. Dean knelt down on the ground, face and clothes covered in dust. John standing above, the same dust coating his beat-up leather jacket, less noticeable but still there. And Sam, stood between them for once in his life, trying to make them choose the most rational option. 

But Sam didn’t understand yet, there were never any rational options. Not really. 

Then John spoke. The judge, jury, and executioner himself. 

“Help him up Sam.” He said, already walking away. 

The boy sighed in relief and knelt down to carefully help his brother stand. Dean just watched John’s back as it moved out of the clearing and back through the dry overgrowth. 

His father turned to look over his shoulder once Dean was standing. Well, barely standing. Hunched over his injured arm like a beggar, his younger brother hovering by his side. The hunter's face fell into something unreadable as he stared at them both. 

“There’s an Urgent Care Clinic in Tucson.” He said to Sam, turning away.

Dean’s mouth turned into a grimace as Sam huffed out an annoyed breath.

Of course John would choose an option that none of them really wanted. Including John himself.


	8. Father, thy will be done

* * *

  


Tulsa’s Urgent Care was busy. 6 o’clock on a Thursday was apparently prime accident time. The pain-stricken and injured crowded the reception, some swayed where they stood like mindless zombies, others berated the poor staff behind the pale teal desk. John muscled his way through the jammed entrance, clearing a path for Sam and Dean- the latter of which blended in well with most of the people there. Sam, however, looked alert and ready to push away anyone who even thought about stumbling into his brother. 

After elbowing some slurring guy who was leaning way too far over the desk out of his way, John fixed the receptionist with a glare. 

“We need to see a doctor.” 

The lady stared at him through her thin glasses, “Sir you’re going to have to be more specific- everyone here needs the same thing.” 

John stepped aside so that Dean, who was hovering behind with Sam, could be seen. The receptionist looked at Dean’s face, then down to the protruding bump on his left shoulder, then to the unnatural way the arm hung from the socket, then finally back to John. 

“Your son I take it?” She asked, judgement clouding her eyes. Dean felt a tightness in his chest, a tiny flutter of indignation, even if the conclusions the woman was jumping to were the right ones. 

“Can you just take his info and tell us how long?” Muttered John as he turned to look through the waiting room for any sign of a doctor. 

The woman looked ready to say something back to him but seemed to think better of it. Instead she beckoned Dean closer to the desk. 

“What’s your name honey?” She asked, her tone significantly kinder than when she spoke to his father. 

“Dean...” He paused and chanced a glance at John to get any sort of direction on how he should proceed. But the man still wasn’t looking at him, and it suddenly dawned on Dean that John had yet to address him directly since the fight. 

“Dean Hetfield.” He said finally, guessing that an alias was the way to go. An alias that was different to the one they’d used for school and the motel. 

“Date of birth?” 

Dean was about to answer her when all of a sudden the bright fluorescent lights and the crowded room, combined with the powder keg that was his shoulder, made Dean feel like he was on the verge of passing out. It was like that geeky Operation game Sammy liked. One wrong move and the buzzer would sound and his shoulder would light up in unbelievable pain. 

Sam seemed to notice and moved closer to him. 

“January the 24th.” The younger boy said quickly as Dean began to look a little shakier on his feet. 

The woman smiled at Sam, “The year too hun.” 

Sam paused, trying to bring to mind the year Dean was born. A year which he’d never existed in. 

“1979.” John said as he turned around, "Can we see somebody now?” 

The receptionist’s face fell again now that John had chosen to re-join the conversation. 

“Just one more important thing.” She muttered as she jabbed her keyboard in annoyance and looked up at the two boys, “What’s your injury Dean?” 

“My shoulder. Dislocated.” 

“Broken.” Corrected Sam, his eyes going wide and worried, which practically made the woman melt. 

“I think the Doctor will figure that out for you.” She said softly as she finished typing and pressed enter. A printer whirred to life, creating forms to be filled- or in their case- forged. 

“How long?” Asked John impatiently. 

“Well at the moment there’s about a 30-40 minute wait, but I’ll see if I can bump him up the list.” 

She handed the printed forms over to the hunter who took them begrudgingly. 

“Take a seat.” She smiled again, but unlike her smile to Sam, this one had far too much teeth. 

“Yeah there’s plenty spare.” Growled John sarcastically. 

* * * * 

“And how did this happen?” Asked the middle-aged nurse who was examining Dean on the small hospital bed that was haphazardly covered in thin disposable sheets. 

“Wrestling.” John said from the corner of the room, his eyes low and shadowed by the harsh overhead lighting, “He injured it at practice.” 

“It’s 6:30.” Noted the nurse sceptically. 

“Late practice.” 

Dean hissed in pain as the nurse pulled at the sleeve of his t-shirt in order to fit the small scissors underneath. The silver parted the fabric in two, revealing the wreckage of his skin beneath. Sam, who was watching carefully from the one chair beside the bed, turned his head away from the sight- a sickening purple-blue nightmare. John on the other hand stared directly at it, almost transfixed. 

Dean wanted to yell at him, _this was you! Didn't you see me tapping? I wanted out of the hold- didn't you see? I tapped out!_

But he didn’t. Instead he white knuckled the sides of the bed as the nurse sucked air through her teeth in pity. 

“Well it’s a bad one.” She placed the metal scissors in a small apron pocket she wore around her waist, “Just sit tight- I'll track down the Doctor.” 

As she left Sam stood up and reached for Dean’s hand. His fingertips brushed Dean’s before the older boy moved his right arm away and placed it protectively across his chest. 

“I’m not dying Sammy.” He said, though he felt like a part of him was. A part that had survived the loss of normality that Sonny had provided him with, the part that longed for safety that he’d never find. The snap of his shoulder had been a rude awakening. Just like the sight of the Impala in the moonlight, blocking his way to an ordinary life. 

And now Sam, who had always been under Dean’s wing, looked at him like he was a broken fragile bird. 

Tears were threatening to appear again, but thankfully Sam turned away to glare at their father and directed his anger at him. 

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Sam asked and John’s eyes slid away from Dean’s mangled shoulder and onto Sam’s face. 

“What’s there to say?” He said blankly. 

“Oh I dunno- _sorry_ maybe?” 

John almost flinched at Sam’s high piercing voice and turned to look through the door to see if anyone was around. 

“Keep your voice down.” He warned. 

“No! That wasn’t _training_ Dad! Look what happened!” Sam pointed at Dean but his eyes were firmly fixed on John. The two of them glared at each other, neither one moving, and Dean looked on- staring intently at Sam. He tried to reconcile this Sam with the same boy who lent out of the car with a model jet plane close to a month ago. The two didn’t coexist, yet there Sam stood, not a kid anymore. But still a kid, forever a kid, to Dean. 

He couldn’t let Sam fight this fight, not now, not at 11 going on 12-years-old. 

“Sammy, please.” Called Dean, his right hand reached out to beckon him to the bedside again. 

Sam’s posture relaxed slightly and he returned to his seat by his brother. He didn’t try to grasp Dean’s hand again, just sat cross-armed in the plastic chair. Dean left his hand resting on the edge of the bed, open and empty. 

The door to their examination room opened, John quickly stepped aside to avoid it hitting him. A dishevelled looking doctor walked in with a clipboard and almost walked straight into John. 

“Oh, sorry mister...” The doctor paused, obviously waiting for John to complete the rest of the sentence. 

“It’s not written on your forms there?” The man asked with a raised brow and the doctor shuffled nervously through his notes. 

“Let me just... Mr Hetfield right? Is this Dean we have here?" 

“Present.” Said Dean lamely from the bed. 

The doctor gave him a strained smile and made his way over. 

“You had any pain relief Dean?” 

“No he hasn’t.” John spoke for him again. 

“Okay, I’ll get that fixed for you.” The doctor jotted down something on his clipboard and turned his attention back to Dean, “How would you rate your pain- scale of one to ten?” 

“I don’t know, it doesn’t really hurt unless I move it. My arm just feels... kinda dead.” 

Sam squirmed in his seat. Dean could tell he was dying to tell the doctor that it had practically been snapped off. The kid was all but convinced it was going to have to be amputated or something. 

“And when you do move it?” 

“Probably erm, probably like... an eight.” Answered Dean and this time he saw his father move slightly out the corner of his eye. Dean had never admitted to this level of pain before, he’d always downplayed whatever injury he had to the point of concealing it completely. 

The teenager wanted to confront John right now to see if it hurt him too to see him like this, defences so low you could walk an army through them, but he wasn’t ready to _really_ look at the man just yet. And he felt like the feeling was mutual. 

“Wrestling practice right? That’s how you got this injury?” Asked the doctor as the door opened, revealing the same nurse from before. She held a needle and a small glass bottle with a silver cap. 

“Yeah. I was pinned.” Said Dean absentmindedly whilst he watched the nurse approach him. 

“Arm behind your back?” 

Dean nodded and the doctor shook his head. 

“Pretty illegal move. Hope your opponent got disqualified.” 

Sam let out a loud indignant laugh that made everyone in the room turn and look at him. The 11-year-old shrunk a little under the scrutiny and tried to turn it into a cough. 

“Alright Dean we’re going to give you some morphine just to help you with pain while Doctor Kelly examines your shoulder.” Said the nurse, breaking the weird silence in the room. 

She turned the small bottle upside down and placed the needle through the cap, drew some of the clear liquid, tapped the syringe twice, then made her way over to Dean’s right side. 

“You might have to move out the way for me sweetheart.” She said to Sam as she took Dean’s wrist. 

The boy reluctantly shifted the chair back and asked, “Shouldn’t you put the needle in his hurt shoulder?” 

“I’m injecting the morphine intramuscularly like a shot. It means it’ll get into Dean’s bloodstream quicker and effect his whole body. It’ll get to his other shoulder- don’t worry.” The nurse winked at Sam and wiped a section of Dean’s upper arm with a cold cotton ball. 

“You want a countdown?” She asked him and he turned his head away. 

“No, Just do it.” 

“Okay.” Her soft voice whispered and then almost immediately he felt the needle plunge into his skin. Dean’s face tightened a little but otherwise he didn’t move as the morphine entered his body. Soon after he felt a comforting numbness begin to spread through him and he felt his limbs loosen-up for the first time in what felt like ages. 

The doctor was talking but Dean phased him out. The nurse moved in a blur to the other side of the bed where they both examined his busted shoulder, carefully lifting it and muttering to each other throughout. Dean’s eyes remained on the on the linoleum covered floor but he could still see his brother trying to draw his attention in his peripheral vision. He ignored him and rode the small wave of relief that the morphine had provided him. 

“So it looks like a Glenohumeral Joint Dislocation.” Said the doctor loudly, pulling Dean out of the morphine wave unceremoniously. 

“A what?” John’s voice made the medical staff jump a little, as though they forgot he was lurking behind them with his back practically pressed against the wall. Dean hadn’t forgotten, he felt his presence in the room like a dark shadow. 

Once again the doctor cleared his throat before addressing the intimidating man, “Well it’s basically a forceful external rotation that has caused the shoulder joint to become dislocated. Some of the soft tissues and tendons may be torn. If that’s the case he may require surgery, we’ll have to do an X-ray to see the extent of the damage before we think about putting it back where it should be.” 

“Told you it wasn’t broken.” Dean smirked to himself even though he was talking to Sam. The little know-it-all didn’t quite know everything. 

“The bone may not be broken but it’s still serious Dean.” Chided the doctor as he scribbled on his clipboard, the man nodded towards the nurse, “Hailey here will be back soon for that X-ray.” 

“Just press the call button if you need anything.” The nurse smiled as the two of them walked out of the room, leaving the three Winchesters alone to wallow in their equally fractured states. 

As soon as they left Dean’s arm longed to press the call button to bring the medical staff right back so that they would have some kind of buffer here to avoid everything that was simmering beneath them all. 

Already he knew the nurse hadn’t drugged him up enough to deal with his family. 

Sam was still sitting on that fragile plastic chair, his arms still crossed around himself tightly as though he was trying to hold himself back. Before he could let loose however, John drew out his wallet and took out a few dollars. 

“Go get us some food Sammy.” He said with a sigh. 

The two boys both stared at him like it was the last thing they expected him to say. 

“What?” Asked Sam in disbelief. 

“The vending machines down the corridor.” John said, holding out the dollar bills to him. 

The room was quiet for a moment and the muffled sounds from the corridor and adjourning rooms bled through the walls. Sam shook his head and gestured towards his brother, “What about Dean?” 

“I’ll have Doritos if they’ve got ‘em, thanks.” Joked the teenager, sick of being spoken about like he wasn’t there- the invisible broken boy on a hospital bed. 

Sam pulled a face, “That’s not what I-” 

“I know what you meant man. Don’t worry I’ll still be laying here when you get back.” 

The younger boy opened his mouth to argue more but one look at Dean’s worn-out face made him drop his head. Their father still stood there, money outstretched, waiting for Sam to give in and leave on an errand they all could tell wasn’t really about food. 

Dean watched as he seemed to fight some inner battle with himself until eventually Sam stood up and made his way over to the door. He grabbed the money without looking at his father and walked out of the room. The door swung shut behind quietly but Dean was willing to bet that fistful of dollars that if he could have slammed it, he would have. 

They could hear the muffled sounds of the Urgent Care all around them once again. Squeaks of shoes on the shiny linoleum floor, the dull beeping of some faraway machine, faint voices talking, a sound of an argument in hushed tones. Dean listened intently and kept his eyes on his shoes that were covered in dust and dirt. Due to their father vetoing a hospital visit, he didn’t have to wear those thin hospital gowns that could make even the healthiest person look ill and so was still wearing his gym clothes. Now that he looked though, he realised his legs were all scraped up too. No wonder no-one but the oblivious doctor was buying their story. What, did the school make the team wrestle outside on the foothills of a mountain? Dean almost laughed but stopped when he saw his father moving to the right side of the bed. 

The man slowly sunk down into the beat-up chair Sam had been sitting on and bowed his head. 

“Dean.” John said, finally acknowledging his son directly, even though he said the word matter-of-factly like he was reading it off a sheet of paper. 

Almost immediately Dean’s well-honed defences came up and he told him, “It’s alright.” 

Hesitantly, he slid his eyes to the side to look at his father. John still had his own dark eyes fixed on the floor, only one side of his face was visible. 

“Is it?” The man asked in a low voice with his hands clasped together like he was in prayer, like some higher power might answer him. When it didn't, his head seemed to bow even lower.

“You know sometimes... sometimes things are just a fucking mess. And these hunts, they’re all fucking messes too. And I get back to you boys and...” 

John stopped dead. Dean was used to these half-baked rambling explanations. His father was a man of few words, apart from when he was raining down all of his failures and regrets onto his eldest son. 

“Sorry.” Muttered Dean, not exactly sure what he was apologising for. It was just something he said to John, something that resembled a white flag. 

The hunter sighed again and rubbed a hand over his face. His wedding ring glinted briefly in the florescent light and Dean watched, transfixed. 

“Yeah.” Mumbled John, “Yeah I know.” 

Dean sat still and waited for an apology he wouldn’t get in return. He knew his father was so deep in denial that he wasn’t about to kneel at Dean’s feet and beg for forgiveness, not that he ever would. The teenager could already see that the screws had started to turn in John’s head to justify his actions. It was some high-level repression that Dean himself had inherited. 

To think it had all been so simple this afternoon. Wrestling practice was coming up at 3 pm and Dean was hanging out with Dylan and James at lunch, listening to their plans and suburban lives. Sure they weren't the best of friends with the two of them, but if he stayed they might have been. The teenagers would soon forget him now, just a footnote in their own stable high school experience. Sam and Dean were like blips on school records across the country, living on in lingering memories of the few people who got to know them in their short stays. When Dean thought about it, he felt incredibly lonely living this half-life. He never used to care all that much, but then again, he never really had a real taste of the alternative before his time in Hurleyville. 

He knew how that story ended, and he didn't have to skip ahead to know how this one would end too.

“When are we leaving?” Asked Dean blankly, accepting his fate.

John stared at him out the corner of his eye, “You wanna leave?” 

“I mean I figured...” Dean trailed off. Maybe at one point he hadn't wanted to, but that was gone now. Anyway, after the scene they’d created at practice, if he strolled back into school with a strapped-up arm there were going to be questions. 

“We'll leave after we’re done in here.” His Dad's voice sounded tired. Dean knew he was probably itching for a drink, something to drown away this entire ordeal. Hell, Dean wanted one too. He could go for another round of morphine while he was at it. The strange uncomfortable ache seemed to be growing again, but maybe that had nothing to do with his messed-up shoulder.

John surprised Dean as he began to stand, “I should, um, go and help Sammy. I only gave him four dollars.” 

_Barely less than you gave me to live off for a whole week_, thought Dean bitterly. He could feel his dad looking down at him and Dean almost turned his head. He could have looked him dead in the eye and asked him why he’d really attempted to snap his arm in two. Was it over wrestling? Was it over him doing something for himself outside of the family business? 

Or didn’t it matter? Dean had learnt his lesson, hadn’t he? Keep in line, wherever that line may be. 

His mind went back to when he'd came to after his shoulder had given out. The sky had been so beautiful, pink deepening to red. Part of Dean wished they’d left him there in that dusty clearing. He wanted to climb to the summit and wait till the red sky turned black, sitting down on the scorched earth to stare at the clusters of light in the distance.

But no. He was here with morphine in his veins and a father incapable of even acknowledging what had happened. 

Just when Dean thought John was going to escape without another word, he paused before the door and turned his head slightly over his shoulder so a portion of his side profile could be seen. 

“Top Notch Wrestling tours around sometimes. I’ve caught them at bars before. Maybe sometime, I could take you boys...” 

Dean sat there, a little taken aback at the suggestion. 

“Y-yeah, maybe.” He stuttered from the bed. It wasn’t a promise, John Winchester didn’t keep those, but maybe it was an olive branch of some kind. 

Dean watched as his Dad nodded slightly and turned towards the door. He had his hand almost on the handle when Dean felt like he couldn’t let him go. Not without asking him something that was weighing heavy on his mind. 

“Wait Dad.” He called, and John froze. 

The noises of the medical center returned, louder than before. But louder than everything was Dean’s rapid heartbeat as he stared at his father’s back. 

“Did, did you see me tapping?” 

John’s hand hovered above the handle for a second and Dean held his breath. 

But it was all for nothing. His father wrenched open the door and left, leaving Dean stranded on the bed and the question hanging in the air. Where it would remain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this fic! Apologies if the medical stuff mentioned in this chapter is incorrect, I am in no way a doctor. Also Top Notch Wrestling is a reference to s11's Beyond the Mat. I know Dean said that that was a happy memory of John taking them to matches, so naturally I had to give it a depressing origin.
> 
> Sadly I am ending the Crossfire series here with the longest fic out of them all. Thank you so much if you've read the entire series, I may add to it again in the future but I feel this is a natural stop for now ♥


End file.
